Gallifreyan Mind Tricks
by VioletMoodSwings
Summary: The Doctor shows Clara who the boss is once again. More smutty, kinky Whouffle ensues in this sequel to "An Open Door, an Open Mind" - by popular demand!


***Dedicated to Marc Cabot***

Clara watched as the Doctor hopped around the console, frenetically flipping levers and turning dials, frowning in concentration.

Clara was deep in thought too as she watched him, leaning against the rail in her little red dress. He was a tough nut to crack. He knew so much about her, and though she'd come to memorize every inch of his body in the past few months she still knew so little about him. When she asked the Doctor about himself he was cagey and weird. She could tell he trusted her; it seemed like it was simply out of habit he maintained the smoke and mirrors. Much of what she knew of him came from observation, but watching him interact with others often posed as many questions as it answered. He could fast talk his way out of any situation it seemed, but sometimes Clara wondered if it was all just talk.

"Doctor," Clara said.

"Hmm." He didn't look up from his work.

"Are you psychic?"

"Hmm?" Still he continued to tinker.

"Can you... read minds?"

The Doctor looked up. "Why do you ask?"

"I've watched you with people who'd as soon see you dead as give you a glass of water, and then a few minutes later they're helping you out, or at least looking the other way," she said. "So can you... I don't know, get into their heads?"

Clara could almost see the gears turn as the Doctor carefully considered his answer.

"Oh no. I mean, I'd never do that without permission," he said. "Well, not unless it was important."

"And I'm sure you're very judicious in deciding what constitutes 'important,'" Clara said with a saucy smirk. "It would never be a matter of convenience, of course."

Something flashed through the Doctor's brilliant green eyes before he shrugged nonchalantly. Clara was baiting him again. He flipped one last switch and leaned his hip on the console, regarding her with a mixture of amusement and gravity. When he gave her that look she knew she was in trouble. As far as the Doctor was concerned, she deserved whatever she got. Not to mention that it gave him the perfect segue – he did not care to delve into the subject of his telepathic powers. Those conversations were always so drawn out and messy. Smoke and mirrors once again. The Doctor lies. Often by omission.

"I wouldn't take advantage of a situation unless it was positively necessary," he said.

He caught her gaze with his own. There was something different to this look though, something compelling. Clara always loved studying that youthful old face of his, but this time she found herself unable to look away.

"For instance, it wouldn't be fair for me to suggest to someone unsuspecting, someone like your lovely self perhaps," Clara's world seemed to narrow down as the Doctor's words took sudden priority, "that her knickers were getting damp simply from the sound of my voice."

Fascination aside, there was no way she was going to fall for that. _Nice try Doctor_, Clara thought with a snort, but suddenly that certainty began to melt into a pool between her thighs. Her eyes widened. It was the Doctor's turn to smirk.

"Nor would it be fair to suggest that her hands were frozen in place on the rail there," he continued

Disbelief crossed those dainty features as Clara tried unsuccessfully to wrench her hands away from the banister.

"Not unless it was convenient, of course," the Doctor finished with a wily smile.

Clara struggled to regain control of her hands but they were planted in place as if they'd grown roots. She stilled as the Doctor sauntered over. He loved to see her like this, that ordinarily bold facade chipped away until the real Clara shone through. He also loved that she felt safe enough to play these games with him. They both knew that with a word she could call a stop to it at any time.

The Doctor stood a few feet away. "Anything you'd like to say?" he asked. Though the "word" was not forthcoming, he liked to check in just the same.

Clara blinked at him. She, too, loved these games – or more precisely loved to hate them. And the worst part (or the best part, she could never quite decide) was that she always brought it upon herself. From the very beginning she'd baited him, and since he'd finally begun taking it she was never quite sure who was reeling in whom. Her mouth was constantly getting her into trouble – Clara was just not capable of biting her tongue.

This instance was to be no exception. The glimmer returned to her eyes.

"Do your worst, Chin Boy."

The Doctor's eyebrows shot up in puckish delight. His Impossible Girl always obliged him with an excuse to torment her. Folding his hands behind him, the Doctor rocked back and forth on his heels, staring at the ceiling.

"My worst..." he said pensively, "my worst..."

Finally he approached Clara, leaning over to nuzzle her neck. She moaned quietly as his lips ran down her throat before he sucked on her fragile flesh hard enough to leave a mark.

"I always like to contemplate my worst over a cup of tea," he murmured into her ear. "The whole ritual – putting the kettle on, squeezing out the last little bit from the teabag, those tiny teacups – it really gives a body time to think."

His large hands roamed along her curves and Clara would have returned the favor if her own hands hadn't been stuck in place. She pressed into him as he kissed her passionately. The Doctor grabbed a fistful of Clara's hair as their tongues intertwined like serpents. Abruptly he pulled away and straightened his bow tie. Clara groaned in frustration.

"I'd ask you to join me but it look like you're going to... stick around here."

With a smile the Doctor began to walk away.

"But-" Clara began.

The Doctor turned before he reached the corridor. "Wait. Do you hear that?"

Confused, Clara listened carefully. She shook her head.

"The pulsing of the TARDIS as she ferries us across time and space. It's like white noise to you now unless you're paying attention. And I'll bet all of a sudden you're paying very close attention."

Now that he'd pointed it out, of course Clara noticed the thrum of his vessel, regular as a heartbeat.

"That's not mind control, that's just redirecting my attention," Clara said.

"I'm sure you're right," the Doctor said. "Since you're so confident in your position, you won't mind if I direct your attention to the tactile modality of that pulsation. Oh, that's a great phrase. 'Tactile modality.' Must remember to use that more often. You can feel it under your feet, can't you?"

Clara could indeed feel the vibrations from the metal grating through the soles of her ballet flats. She nodded her head warily, trying to figure out his scheme.

"I think you'll begin to notice the vibrations traveling up those gorgeous legs of yours to a more... sensitive place while I'm away. And the longer I'm away, the more intense those sensations will become. "

Already she could feel a tingling in her calves with each throb of the TARDIS engines.

"Each pulse will become stronger and stronger until you're going absolutely barmy. It's going to be a lot to deal with but you've faced worse than this. It will probably take you right up to the edge, but I don't think you'll be able to pull off a 'grand finale' until I return."

The Doctor winked at Clara.

"Well, off I pop. Brilliant stuff, tea. Those tiny teacups really are the best," he said and resumed his journey. "I'll be back. Eventually."

Clara watched the Doctor walk away, mouth agape and hands still glued to the railing.

Surely he was bluffing and would be back any moment, she thought as the pulsation of the TARDIS crept up her calves and into her thighs. This was all in her head. _All I have to do is think of kittens, or 101 Places to See and... oh my stars. _The sensation reached her lady parts. Clara tried to concentrate on anything, anything to take her mind off the "whump whump whump" that shot through her body. She gasped as her panties soaked through. Once she'd had a boyfriend who'd used an electric neck massager on her in a way not recommended by the manufacturer, but that was nothing to the intensity of this.

Clara's face flushed and she let her head drop back. The rhythmic vibrations began to run through the rail and up her immobilized fingers as well. Nipples hardening and breathing ragged, Clara's whole body buzzed like she was sitting on the subwoofer at a nightclub. Her clit pounded to the beat, and as time ticked by Clara wondered if she _could_ take it. Her legs were wobbly as jelly babies and she would likely have hit the floor had her hands not been cemented in place. The sensation finally overtook her pride.

"Doctor!" she moaned.

There was no answer but the relentless rhythm and that excruciating double-edged feeling. How long had this been going on? Minutes? Hours? Decades? She was so close to coming, but just couldn't get there. It was like the TARDIS was in cahoots with the Doctor – every time Clara was sure she'd be overtaken by pleasure, the vibrations seemed to ease off for a moment. She had just been cheated out of another orgasm when she called for her tormentor again.

"Doctor please, I can't take it! I can't!"

She was sure she heard the Doctor's boots clanking down the corridor over the pounding in her ears. The sensation intensified with every footfall as they approached. But he was taking his time. Her pussy throbbed with his pace. It was enough to make her scream, and scream she did.

"DOCTOR!"

At long last he emerged into the control room, sharp green eyes peeking blithely through his fringe. "You don't have to shout, I'm right here," he said brightly.

That was all it took. The shriek that issued forth from Clara resounded off nearby nebulae and proximate pulsars as she came harder than she ever had before, Thrashing and shaking with the force of it.

The Doctor strode over to her. She couldn't hear what he whispered in her ear over the cacophony of the orgasm, but suddenly her hands were free. She dropped into the Doctor's waiting arms. He scooped her up and sat on the jump seat with the limp girl in his lap. The Doctor pushed Clara's sweat-soaked hair back from her face and rocked slowly, kissing her forehead.

Her eyes finally opened and she peered up at him, chocolate gaze bleary and childlike.

"Well hello, you," he said, voice gentle.

"Hello," she replied hoarsely.

"Miss me?"

Clara was too exhausted to do anything but laugh.

"So what you're saying is, you _can_ control people's minds," she said weakly.

The Doctor smiled. He looked deeply into her eyes. "Those were parlor tricks."

"Aha, so there _is_ more..."

"There certainly is."

The Doctor slid his hand between Clara's thighs, rubbing at her sodden knickers. Smoke and mirrors. Misdirection. Still recovering from her ordeal, interrogation forgotten, Clara cooed and blushed as the Doctor's erection pressed into her bottom. But she could not help baiting him again. How easily they fell into their roles.

"So... that was your 'worst'?"

"I thought that was near to my best," said the Doctor.

"Your best leaves you all hot and bothered?"

"Unlike you little humans, Time Lords are capable of controlling their arousal."

Clara rotated her hips, grinding her bum into the Doctor's hard-on and her crotch into his fingers. She could see the lust on her Doctor's face, though he did his best to hide it.

"Are they now?" she said. eyes gleaming again.

Languidly Clara sat up and straddled the Doctor. Still dewy with sweat, her bare knees stuck to the leather of the jump seat. The skirt of that little red dress allowed her to grind her sopping panties against him, marking the seam of his trousers with her scent. They both inhaled deeply with desire.

He wouldn't admit it to his "little human" but her movements left him longing to remove those material barricades between them posthaste. Unfortunately the gauntlet had been thrown. The Doctor silently cursed his own bravado – he was now obliged to defend some ridiculous Gallifreyan honor instead of immediately bending his curvaceous Clara over the back of the seat. But it was all part of the game, he reminded himself, and he did love a challenge – so instead he remained the very picture of composure as Clara pushed her pliant body against him.

Her perfect breasts pressed against the Doctor's tweed lapels and even through her dress Clara's nipples chafed to proud points once again. Breathing her delicious, hot breath onto the Doctor's lips, Clara's normally sharp tongue was soft and moist as it darted out to lick them. The Doctor remained tense but passive, though he tilted forward enough to let Clara slip the jacket off his broad shoulders. She ground her clit into his cock and kissed him in earnest. This he could not resist. Soon they were snogging like horny teenagers and the Doctor had to slip his hands under his thighs, resisting the strong urge to manhandle his lecherous companion.

Clara pulled the Doctor's jacket from out from behind him and suddenly wrenched her lips away. The Doctor steeled himself and gave Clara as nonchalant a smile as he could muster considering how his erection now throbbed in time to the TARDIS too. Clara leered back at him as she slid off his lap. She made a show of laying the jacket out between his feet on the metal grating of the console room's upper deck and knelt before him. As she ran her hand over his cock and unclasped his trousers, the Doctor's smile faltered. To cover his perturbation he crossed his arms over his chest. With her coaxing, the Doctor's hard-on popped out of his fly like a jack-in-the-box. Clara smirked again.

"Quite in control of our arousal now are we, O Highly Evolved Lord of Time?" she said.

The Doctor opened his mouth to reply as Clara opened hers to suck in the head of his cock. His witty rejoinders turned into a groan.

She'd had always been a natural in the sack, and that skill translated beautifully to the deck's metal grating. With the Doctor's big cock planted firmly in her mouth, she knew she had him, despite his brave attempt at meditative breathing. He'd let his head loll back and stared at the whirling doohickeys on the ceiling; as he tried to regain command of his faculties, the Doctor knew he couldn't look at those big bright eyes and chestnut tresses bobbing up and down any longer. Really, he did generally show better restraint than this. Perhaps he'd given control over to his dear River a time or two, but that had been by choice. This was a struggle for power – Clara currently held the reigns, and that grip tightened with every stroke of her velvety red lips.

There was something building up inside him. The Doctor took in a deep, deep breath and let it out very slowly. Clara felt his thighs relax. _Oh no you don't!_ she thought and pulled out every last trick in the book. Taking him in all the way, tongue swirling, she finally she found a pace he just couldn't resist. The Doctor's eyes popped open and he yanked his head upright, staring down at her slack-jawed. Reflexively his hands twined in Clara's hair. If her mouth hadn't been full, Clara's knowing smile would have been apparent. As it was her look said it all. It was the motivation the Doctor needed to wrest himself back from the edge.

He tightened his grip on Clara's mane, restricting her movement, and she replied with a moan of disappointment. With a moment's respite the Doctor was able to sufficiently calm himself and, back in the saddle, he slowly thrust into her mouth. He slid one hand down Clara's breast to harshly tweak a nipple the way that she loved most. She moaned again. But she hadn't given up yet.

Clara relaxed her body and allowed the Doctor to use her mouth without contention. Afraid she'd give away the game, Clara averted her mischievous eyes from his smug expression, and confident he'd won the upper hand, the Doctor's grip on her hair gradually slackened. Sometimes he was so predictable.

Abruptly Clara knocked his hands away and was back in his lap in a flash. It caught the Doctor off-guard and in the confusion she managed to pin his hands beneath her knees as she straddled him once again. Her knickers were the only barrier between them, and his cock dug deliciously into her clit in the melee. Beaming at Clara with dark, lustful eyes, the Doctor allowed her to enjoy the conquest. She nipped at his neck and suckled an earlobe, perpetuating the captivating friction between them that threatened to wear a hole in her panties.

Clara blew into his ear, sending chills down the Doctor's spine. "Still feeling like the top of the food chain, Chin Boy?"

The Doctor chuckled. Physically she was no match for him. He'd simply been biding his time.

Suddenly he flipped Clara onto her back and laid her out along the length of the jump seat. She squeaked in surprise. The Doctor wedged himself between her thighs, catching her left arm and leg between their bodies and the seat back. Her right arm he held straight, wrist pinioned at her hip. The short skirt of her dress had flown up, and he ripped her knickers clean off with his free hand, leaving mean red lines. Clara gasped in pain and pleasure, her pussy exposed before him like a buffet. The Doctor licked his lips.

"Top of the food chain? Well let's just see who eats whom, hmm?" he said.

Clara thrashed about, pinned down on the jump seat. Using her struggles to his advantage, the Doctor straddled her trapped left leg, immobilizing it with his weight. He let go of her right hand long enough to slip an arm under the corresponding thigh, then captured both wrists to hold her arms to her sides. Scooting down the seat, he was now at face level with her snatch.

His gaze moved up every toothsome morsel of Clara's heaving body until their eyes met – his cocksure and steady, hers frantic, bedeviled and beyond aroused. She had lost the battle, and for both parties the pleasure was all the greater for it.

The pungent, lascivious smell of Clara's inflamed pussy filled the control room and the Doctor took in a lungful, savoring the scent. Lazily he nibbled his way up her thigh until she was panting for the most intimate of kisses. Though she now struggled to get closer to him rather than escape, Clara's efforts were just as futile.

"My little Clara. So impatient, so greedy," the Doctor said, his words ruffling her short, damp curls. "A sentient spacecraft gives her an orgasm of astronomical proportions and still she yearns for more."

His lips were so achingly near. Clara whimpered in reply.

"But we both know it wasn't really the TARDIS that made you feel that way, though the old girl was quite a help," he continued. "Who was it that made you come?"

These were the most challenging demands the Doctor placed on Clara – making her answer these questions, making her swallow that bottomless pride and admit when she was under his control. Well aware of this fact, the Doctor only ever presented them when he held all the cards – and in these cases he was never bluffing. Though she knew there was no way around it, a silent war still raged inside her on each occasion.

"Who?"

She gritted her teeth. The Doctor marked her inner thigh with his and repeated, "Who?"

She gasped, desire winning over. "You!"

"Ah, that's more like it."

With that, the Doctor plunged his face into Clara's swollen pussy.

Halfway through thanking her lucky stars the answer had satisfied him – sometimes he made her repeat and embellish a statement time and time again before rewarding her – Clara became unable to think of anything but the exquisite sensation between her trapped legs. It ran straight down to her toes. The Doctor had a silver tongue and with great relish he polished it on Clara's clit.

Worked up as she was, it didn't take the Doctor long to coax his Clara up that slippery slope. Her brazen oohs and ahhs resounded through the TARDIS. With measured and skillful strokes of his tongue he took her right up to the point of no return – and stopped.

Clara keened in dismay, her pussy clenching at the cool air that replaced the Doctor's warm face. He moved up her body and roughly pulled the red dress over her head. It landed somewhere by the front door. Thinking big picture, the Doctor had no time for fiddly fasteners and ripped the buttons off his own shirt – he really was going to have to stop doing that, the mending pile was becoming mountainous and the TARDIS had probably started to integrate the countless lost buttons into her circuitry. Making swift work of his trousers, a naked Doctor held himself above Clara. He was careful to keep their bodies from touching, a feat considering that his hard-on stood at a ninety-degree angle. Clara still groaned at the injustice that had befallen her, especially when she realized that the curtain had been drawn on his linguistics act.

"Oh dear, is my little Clara all hot and bothered?"

Face flushed, she nodded violently, silently begging him to begin the next number. The Doctor's fringe brushed her forehead as he gazed at her intently.

"You'd like me to touch you again, to get that gorgeous little 'kitty' purring?"

Clara nodded like a dashboard doll on a rutted road, perspiration adhering stray locks of hair to her face.

The Doctor smiled. "You should well know by now that I needn't touch you to put you over the edge..."

As before, his voice seemed to be the only sound in the universe that mattered. Her vision could focus only on his bewitching eyes. Clara gawked up at him. She was a bright, independent woman – how could he have this sway over her?

"...that right now I alone control that extraordinary mind and body of yours..."

Clara's existential inquiries dissipated as the Doctor spoke. Soon she couldn't help but hang on every last mellifluous syllable.

"...that with a word I could bring those agonizingly delightful _sensations_ coursing through you to a head..."

The Doctor was deliberate in his pronunciation of the word "sensations." As he sounded it out she felt an electric sexual shock flow over every inch of her skin. The Doctor's complete mastery over her senses left Clara petrified, bewildered and impassioned. Entranced, she writhed beneath him.

"...just one little word..."

Body ablaze with desire and brain melting into a pool of malleable wax, Clara teetered on that precipice again as the Doctor continued.

"...one... word..."

Crying out, Clara could hardly stand it – she thought she would go insane from this pitiless torture.

"Come!"

Clara's cries turned to a banshee's wail as her entire body throbbed with the force of her orgasm. Disciplined though he was, the Doctor could not hold back any longer and thrust his cock into Clara's pulsating pussy up to the hilt.

Convulsing violently around the Doctor's cock as he slammed into her, Clara couldn't say how long she rode that wave. It was like traveling through the vortex – surely time and space still had some meaning, but they were incomprehensible to her in this state.

The Doctor reveled in her utter and endless release, watched with glee as his brilliant Clara howled beneath him. He shifted the angle of his merciless penetration and she clutched at him like a drowning woman to a buoy on choppy seas.

As the walls of her pussy bore down on him, Clara wasn't the only one affected by the relentless friction. Grunting with exertion, the Doctor dripped sweat onto his darling girl's contorted face. His grunts turned to groans as his rhythm became erratic. It was the Doctor's turn to see stars. He shouted Clara's name and yanked his cock out of her as he came, rubbing hot jets of his seed onto her clit before jamming himself back inside to spurt the rest.

A moment later the Doctor collapsed on top of Clara gasping, hearts pounding. Their slick, steamy bodies cohered. While the Doctor's legs may have been limp as they hung over the end of the jump seat, his cock was anything but. Clara's brain was still doughy, but as she slowly returned to reality she recalled that little idiosyncrasy of Time Lord biology – just became the Doctor had come didn't mean he was spent. There had been occasions where he'd gone off six or seven times in a session and the only reason he'd stopped was because one of them had become too sensitive. The pauses in between were simply a breather, though he was more than capable of pushing through. In past sessions she'd been so full of the Doctor's come that it poured out of her into a pool of warm goo beneath her bum. The heap of stained sheets in the laundry was even bigger than the Doctor's pile of button-less shirts.

As he collected himself the Doctor burrowed his nose in Clara's silky brown hair. It smelled like vanilla and sex. When he raised his head to look at his companion, he saw her doe-like eyes clouded and dreamy. The Doctor kissed Clara deeply, lovingly, nudging his cock inside of her. As his tongue corralled hers, Clara gave an "mmm" of approval into his mouth. Languorously he placed kisses all around her face and neck, slowly shifting inside her. He always seemed to know just the right tempo, when to use a quarter note or a full rest or hit the coda.

As Clara began to move her hips to his sensual staccato, the corners of her mouth quirked up.

"Something funny?"

"I'm just reminded of the term 'horizontal mambo,'" she said.

"That'll show anyone who says I can't dance," the Doctor chuckled. "Are you ready for another spin?"

"Do I have a choice?"

"Of course," the Doctor said, but he had already increased the power of his thrusts.

Clara groaned at the depth. He barely pulled out at all as he gathered speed, until he pummeled Clara's cervix with a savage jerking of his hips. Her pussy was plenty wet, but even more so with his ejaculate sliding around inside her. Clara's screwed her eyes shut – after everything he'd put her through she responded to every buck and hitch, but mind still attuned to his wishes she plateaued right before her next orgasm. The Doctor felt her pussy tighten in the tell-tale signs.

"Look at me," he commanded.

It was all so intense, Clara couldn't bear the thought of watching him watching her.

"Now!" he said and grabbed a handful of her hair.

Clara's eyes popped open and pleadingly met his as he shagged her back into senselessness. He hungrily took her in, enthralled by her submission, her trust, her terror. Like a symphony's conductor, the Doctor directed them both towards the crescendo as he wielded his baton ruthlessly. She had surrendered completely. She was his. And now he was ready for the curtain call.

Plowing into her, wide-eyed gazes glued to one another, the Doctor cried out "come!" as he pumped a fresh batch of semen onto the last. It was a duet of passionate hollering as he bucketed his seed into Clara's pussy and she screamed her final release.

He collapsed atop her again, motionless save for the the heaving of his chest. Clara panted along with him. When he pulled his softening cock out with a sloppy pop, come dribbled out of her pussy.

"My beautiful Clara," he whispered.

Eventually he managed to drag himself upright. Clara scooted around to lay her head in his lap, hair disarrayed over his thigh. She peered up his lean body from sleepy lids.

"Beware the Doctor's Jedi mind tricks," she sighed contentedly.

He smiled down at her, sated. "Correction: Gallifreyan mind tricks."

***Thank you for reading and thank you for your support! After you've filled in my box... er... the review box, check out my "Literary Whosmut" community: community/Literary-Whosmut/111615/ ***


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